Of Robins and Eagles
by BasiliskPrince
Summary: Following after the Revolutionary War, England muddles through life and America's determined to prove he's grown up. What will become of the two?
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

It was strange for the longest of times to sit on a patio chair, staring out at his garden, and not see or hear the pitter patter of small feet. The sound of a loud childish call of his name, the ghost of the past was always haunting him too early in the morning.

The chirping of birds pinched at each nerve as a sizeable headache formed over his temples, and a green clothed arm had risen so that he might cup his hand over his temper. The birds rose high into the sky, small wings fluttering attempting to be strong…as though they had been mere baby birds in a nest moments before. Thrusting their way to the clouds, they sped off fluttering as small birds do…far from his sights. His hand touched against his large and fuzzy eyebrows, and he could only wince at the image of a small boy in a christening gown, running at full speed through the hedges, giggling at his loudest and chasing after a blue monarch butterfly.

Some had said that he was always far too harsh on the child, much like gravity to a baby bird, but he couldn't have argued any more on the topic. He remembered the times he had slaved over his creations to the young nation, fingers blistered and splintered, arm in a sling as he presented the toy soldiers which were freshly painted for the young boy. It was a heart ache to imagine what fate his hard work might have come to, knowing Alfred, he probably had tossed them in the trash to make way for a tribute to himself as the hero of the world, the Stupid git. Still…

Sipping at his chamomile tea with a scone on the patio table, he couldn't help but remember Alfred Jones as the sweet boy he once was. The dimples rising at the simplest smile, he could see the way that the boy would hold up his latest achievement, and he would merely pass an eye over the boy's work and then judge each merit with a critical eye. His harsh judgmental quips at the smaller nation's expense had always been taken mildly or shrugged off. It wasn't until Alfred grew to stand taller than himself did the boy decide that he was a man and needed no more judgment from his elder nation. He had made his attempt to fly from the nest…

( Iggy, Iggy, Arthur Iggy, Alfred: Time Break.)

Sitting back on his leather throwback chair, Alfred had a bag with three cheeseburgers beside him. There was nothing like a cheeseburger, deep fat fried with a side of French fries to consume all his woes. His brown leather jacket and the business suit and tie he wore underneath were saturated with fries and spots of oil as he sat, thinking deeply with a bag of chips at his side.

It was something forbidden at Arthur's grotesquely large mansion to gorge on fatty foods, but he had no desire to go back to that stiff old man. His every moment would be judged, and England would attempt to show America that he was still just a child when he yearned to prove himself as a man.

With his boots up on the recliner's foot stool, he made a point to make a slight mess of his couch…thinking of the ear ache he would have at Britain's. He still wondered if maybe he missed him slightly…it hadn't been that long since America had left his arms…but then maybe he found someone else to care about?

It didn't matter much to America though because he had the top of the line everything, and he was happy just the way he was without that British snob! He didn't need Arthur anymore than he needed any more saturated oils and cholesterol but still, that wasn't going to stop him from enjoying his cheeseburger and fries. To hell with England and his brick-tasting scones! He'd show him…He was the nation to make all nations jealous…He was America!


	2. Chapter 2: Take the Lead

**Arthur's Point of View:**

"_Arthur, Arthur! Look, I colored the cow purple! Cows aren't purple 'because hamburgers aren't purple!" Alfred stood at his desk with a coloring book in his chubby little paws, his arms out reached to the highest point he could without falling down from exhaustion. Alfred was all of five years old and trying his hardest to garner his big brother's attention._

_Arthur sat at his great oak desk, pen in hand as he sat in the hard back chair staring at the latest missives from his brothers. The events that were surrounding England were at a stressful tantamount and there wasn't anything that Arthur could do to lighten the load. His arse had been placed in the frying pan, sizzling and awaiting to be placed next to the scones and served as breakfast to his boss. He nursed his tea, and tried to drown out the sound of a small child jabbering beside his uncomfortable wooden chair. The boy's posture was always off so England had taken to leading by example, as always, straight back and true. The task of drowning out Alfred F. Jones was always difficult, as the boy raised his voice to steal away Arthur's attention and gather him into his company. Alfred had always fussed about wanting to play with Arthur, but he had no time for feeble games of cowboys and Indians, and whatever silly dribble that Alfred came up with. _

"_Not now, Alfred, I am very busy," he said turning his full attention to the stack of papers without even raising an eye to the child. _

"_But I colored it just for you, Arthur!" The boy struggled to place his coloring book on the desk, but Arthur merely held his hand in the air. _

"_No, not now Alfred, I am busy!"_

_It was after that moment that the blond haired boy had carried his coloring book out, his head hung low and a sad expression painted on his face._

_-Memory Ends-_

It was memories like this…that reminded Arthur of why he should never try to be a brother figure to another boy again, and each time Peter Kirkland, a pesky little boy at best wandering around in a sailor suit and attempting to make good relations with him, attempted to pull at his walls; he merely ignored the little pest instead and focused all his attention into something more productive to drive away the painful yesterdays.

It was always worse in the meeting room, where he sat in his posh chair waiting on the problems to be presented out right. America always was the first to try to speak, loudly interrupting everyone save for Germany and Russia and plowing ahead. Alfred was a rather scrawny looking youth with an appetite that would one day make him the fat overweight man that he was trying so hard to achieve.

Green pools were scanning the room dully, each nation seemed to have its' own reaction to Alfred's stupidity. From suggesting that all that need be done about world hunger is create one enormous cheeseburger with milkshake and fries for the masses to share, to suggesting that terrorism could be solved by consulting with an alien…Alfred was full of stupid ideas. Every word the man seemed to say screamed of a child trying to make his imagination the focus of everyone's attention. He had thought he had stamped out attention seeking in the child long ago but it was hard to see Alfred as the same sweet little boy now. Instead, he was the arrogant pompous twit standing before everyone and counting himself more important in solving every issue. A silly teenager draped in a jacket, glasses and an unorganized uniform suit and tie…not a man in the slightest. How he longed to grab the younger nation by the ear, and remind him to not act a fool or make England look a disgrace.

It was only then he remembered that America, Alfred, was an independent being now. He relied not on Arthur's finances, stability or wisdom…he relied on only the sweat on his brow. He had the world at his fingertips and turned it down to look an idiot in front of the entire room.

"Oh yes, because it is so practical to make a ten story cheeseburger, America. Bloody wanker," Arthur gazed at the younger nation sardonically.

"It's a great idea! You are just jealous that you didn't come up with it first."

"Monsieurs, ve are vrying to hold a veeting, not a circus," the French man said, waving about his finger in scolding to the two Englishmen, who both had begun to yell at Francis about his attitude, dress, and his general desire to argue about their every action.

"ENOUGH! This is solving nothing! Five minutes each to talk, no interruptions, no talking back, and a vote of hands to decide! No one will do anything vut breathe! Understood?"

Germany shot up from his seat, the blonde was slamming his hands against the oak table, and it was obvious that he was nursing a headache only a beer and a long bath…and a reprieve from Italy could cure.

Still, the only thing Arthur could seem to think as his deep emerald pools took a glance at the sky blue hues locking with his own was that this whole meeting fiasco was all Alfred's fault…again.

**Alfred's point of View:**

There was nothing worse than a meeting room that wouldn't listen to a single unique idea, even if they were completely brilliant! One of the biggest culprits that sat at the table was stupid old Britain, sticking his thumb down and making a disgruntled face at every new suggestion. Well, why didn't he try to solve it if he thought his thoughts were better! Alfred sat in his chair at the meeting room, disgruntled and heated, watching as Germany had taken over control of the meeting room. England seemed appeased that someone besides the Great America, admittedly not thought of as so great by Arthur, was taking the lead.

Arms crossed over his chest and his cheeks puffed up in a disgruntled display of agitation, Alfred let it be known that he was not happy with the way things were run. He had every intention of changing it all around; all he needed was one good jab at Germany! He would then gain control of the room and England would have to admit defeat.

"You're the one that tried to take over the world, why do you get to take charge!"Alfred spoke up, admittedly sounding slightly sulky about the whole thing but all the same…he stood up, they'd have to realize it now! Standing loud and proud, Alfred enjoyed every moment of the limelight, the brown jacket with the number '50' written proudly on the back was the outfit that would signify his victory.

"America, stop interrupting Germany, you twit!" England blurted out.

What was this? No, England was suppose to be surprised at how he had garnered control, but instead he found himself immediately sitting down and at attention…he'd not forgotten that rather tense tone meant serious business. Still, this meant nothing! He was still the Hero of this room and he was going to prove it by photographic evidence!

_-Memory begins-_

"_Hey England, I'm going to make us something to eat cause your foods horrible!" Little Alfred called out, running out to the kitchen at light speed._

"_America, if you go near that stove, you won't see the sunlight again and I'll be sure to make nothing but my scones for you from now on!" Arthur called out loudly, his voice an irritated call to the small nation running at top speed into the kitchen…if he caught Alfred, well Al just knew he'd get it good…and couldn't help but gulp at the idea of nothing but Arthur's nasty scones for breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day. _

_That was just torture. _


End file.
